


Hey Ging, Fuck You

by ScreamingPlant



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Drama, F/M, Ging bashing, Gon is Innocent, Humor, MC has anger issues, MC is confused, One-Sided Attraction, Pre-Canon, Rage, Slow Burn, also Ging loving, its complicated
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-23 05:23:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23339701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScreamingPlant/pseuds/ScreamingPlant
Summary: “This is not a heartfelt memoir, nor a cry for help. It is closer to a thinly veiled threat towards Ging Freecs and his shrivelled genitalia for leaving me, leaving his son, and then leaving me with his son.Probably both.Hey Ging, fuck you.”- A one-sided Ging / OC / Reader (never specified) in which Ging manages to piss someone off so much that they become a hunter, travel around the world, topple a chimera monarchy and deal with whiny twelve-year-olds all to for them to reunite with Ging so they can say "hey ging, fuck you."
Relationships: Ging Freecs/Original Character(s), Ging Freecs/Reader, Hisoka (Hunter X Hunter)/Original Character(s), Hisoka (Hunter x Hunter)/Reader
Comments: 77
Kudos: 342
Collections: 💙





	1. Letter One

If you are reading this, you are one of two people.

You are either Ging Freecs, the dead-beat father and jackass for whom this long-winded set of letters is written for,

Or you are some nosy bastard who has gone through my things.

Whoever you are, I have only one thing to say to you.

Fuck you, honestly.

Go die in a fire.

Sincerely,

Me.

.

.

.

It’s been about 12 and a half years since my eyes were subjected to the ugly visage of Ging Freecs.

It’s been 12 years since that bastard up and left _without a damn word_ and fucked off to who knows where.

Since then, I have experienced 12 years of _pure rage._

I’m not an angry person, really. In fact, I’d say I’m quite _patient._

The people around me know this. And that is why when I say that I want to castrate Ging Freecs and bury him alive, I cannot emphasise enough how serious I am.

Kaito suggested I try and express my rage in a  _ healthy  _ way.

You know, given how both Ging and his balls are who-knows-where so I cannot enact my revenge on them.

The silver-haired _hippie_ (I love Kaito, really, but all his talks of inner peace and tranquillity kinda piss me off - _especially when he himself, is prone to losing his temper,_ _ ~~fucking hypocrite~~ ) _ suggested writing some letters to Ging.

Not that we have anywhere to send these letters, but just to write and express myself through. 

The result of that is the letters you are reading now.

Heed my words, though. This is not for me. This is not some sappy and emotional form of therapy for me to “let my emotions out”.

No.

This is for Ging.

Because if there is one thing that is clear, it is that the only way this rage will ever leave me is to hunt Ging down myself and _force_ him to read these damn things. 

Even if it means becoming a damn hunter myself.

So no, this is not a heartfelt memoir, nor a cry for help.

It is closer to a thinly veiled threat towards Ging Freecs and his shrivelled genitalia for leaving me, leaving his son, and then leaving me with his son.

Probably both.

Hey Ging, fuck you.


	2. Letter Two

I'd rather skip all the melodrama and get to the _real_ good stuff, but Kaito would hit me for not being methodical so here we are.

I will be addressing you directly in these, Ging, because I am not pouring my heart out and wasting all this fucking ink without having you read them one day, even if it's the last thing I do. 

You used to always say it was the journey and not the destination but I honestly couldn't give a _damn_ about the journey I have to take to hunt you down and throttle you. 

But that's beside the point. Just to be thorough, we'll start these from the very start. I doubt you still remember how we met, Ging Freecs, but it is a day I could never forget.

.

.

.

If I knew you would have been such an asshole, I would have just let you drown.

But you see, Ging Freecs, I have a rare condition most are unfamiliar with (your sorry ass especially) that is called having a heart.

So, when I first laid eyes on you, a strange boy who smelled like fish and was drowning in the shallow parts of our river, what else was I to do than to rush to your rescue?

You were a brat then. Still are, in my humble opinion.

You said you didn’t need my help. “I’m a hunter,” you told me with a grunt.

“You looked more like a fish just then,” I told you. You hit me on the head with your fishing rod. Something that would soon become tradition, much to my displeasure.

You smelled distinctly of fish then. At the time I thought it was from the river, but the smell never really left you.

No, for the next month you were the moody boy I found in the river who smelled of fish, dirt and teen angst.

I wonder if that’s normal on Whale Island. It certainly wasn’t in the Village.

I still remember your whining. You said, “it’s amazing there are piles of dirt even smaller than home”.

“You complain a lot for a fish.” I said to you and for the first time, I saw you laugh.

I remember my stomach tumbling in a way I’d never experienced before at that. I thought I had ingested poison berries.

Looking back, perhaps being poisoned would have saved me from much more pain.

.

.

.

You stayed on the Island for the next few years, despite how often you complained about how small it was. I wonder what it could be that kept you there for so long.

When I was young, I was naïve.

I used to lay in bed, giggling, wondering if it was me. ~~_(It wasn’t)_~~

You weren’t like the other boys in the village. You had a dream to see the world. And you were powerful, could take down any beast on the island, no matter how far you strayed from our paths.

You were young and so very _vivid._ We both were.

We were young, and we were beautiful.

You’d spend hours mapping down every inch of the island and when you’d stay in our guest room, you’d keep me awake describing your ideas and plans for the future ~~( _you said I’d have the first copy of Greed Island)._~~

At the time, Ging, you were everything I was not.

You were determined and could do anything. In my eyes, you could take on the entire world _and win._

That’s the kind of man you were.

Meanwhile, I was weak. I wasn’t a hunter, I wasn’t a fighter. I was weak physically, I was weak mentally, and I was oh so very weak for you.

I loved you so much Ging, but you would always look the other way.

But that’s okay, I was content with our unrequited romance.

After all these years, I’m not mad because you didn’t love me back, and I wasn’t mad that you loved another woman and had her child. And I’m not mad that I had to find that out from _Kaito_ of all people, either.

I’m mad that you left. I’m mad that you told Kaito to come find you, I’m mad that everyone else but me got some final words from you, or at the very least _a goodbye._

I'm mad that my final words to you were, "I love you."

I'm mad that your response to this was to **_flee the goddamn country_** and I'm mad that I still care enough to write these letters.

I'm mad that you're not here.


	3. Letter Three

I didn’t tell anyone I was leaving.

I suppose I took a page out of your book, Ging, by doing that. Abandoning people was always your forte and not mine.

No, instead, my secret talent, _my party trick,_ was falling hopelessly in love with men who will never settle down.

But that’s beside the point. 

For a while, after you left, I tried to move on. I threw myself into my responsibilities within the village and resolutely tried not to think of you. I learned a lot of things in those years. I learned to bake, I learned how to sew (yes, that’s right, _you drove me to fucking sewing),_ I learned hunting and healing techniques form the elders and I also learned how to bottle up and lock away my emotions like a _fucking champion._

I also got engaged.

Surprisingly, it wasn’t arranged and I think given more time I could have grown to truly love the boyish warrior named Makoa, but of course, _inevitably, inexplicably,_ **you** got in the way.

Even when we’re not on the same _continent,_ you still find a way to fuck me over.

11 days before my wedding and almost ten years after being dumped by the boy who smelt like fish and dirt, did I find your _note._

Yes, that damned fucking _note_ that threw what might’ve been a calm and nice life for me out the window.

I don’t know if you remember, what you left for me in the summer a decade ago, nailed underneath the wood of my underwear drawer (which, _by the way,_ I explicitly told you to never open and am still pissed about).

It was a note of few words, just like the author.

“See Kaito,” it said with some coordinates written in some chicken scratch handwriting. But that could be anyone’s chicken scratch handwriting, I told myself at the time, even though _I knew._

What sealed my fate was what was written on the back.

“Ging,” it said in barely legible letters.

“Ging,” it said, taunting me with four simple characters.

“Ging,” it said, and with it brought a myriad of memories from my past, of a bitter childhood crush that was so much _more_ than that.

I crumbled the paper in my hands and genuinely considered setting myself on fire to express the utter rage I was feeling at that moment.

Because it’s never enough, is it, Ging?

It wasn’t enough to _just_ abandon me, so you had to leave a note _you knew_ I wouldn’t find until years later, and dangle yourself in front of me like a carrot to a pig.

It was stupid, and I knew it, but god damnit I was a foolish pig. 

I left the island that night without telling anyone, not my mother, my father, or even my betrothed Makoa.

_Oink, Oink._

_Fuck you, Ging_


	4. Letter Four

I assumed Kaito was some secret clue to where I could find you, or someone who would help me get to you, so imagine my disappointment when I found a stoic grey-haired man in a beret (a fucking _beret)_ who also knew as much about you as I do.

Which, incidentally, is about _jack shit._

“So, we’re two useless fucking peas in a pod, then,” I had said at the time and he laughed. 

“So it seems,” he had replied, in that mysterious lilt that he thinks makes him sound cooler (which I, multiple times, have pointed out that it _does not)._

I ended up staying with Kaito for two years, as it didn’t seem I had anywhere else to go and he was looking for you, too. In hindsight, that was probably for the best because I imagine I would have been absolutely _annihilated_ in the upcoming Hunter exams if I did not have the silver-haired hippie’s training up my sleeve.

Kaito taught me the basics of Nen. Or at least, attempted to. It turns out I’m not a very good warrior, but considering how much you used to pick on me for this I doubt it’s a surprise to you.

It was on a cool summer night that Kaito announced he’d be leaving me (the men in my life had a tendency to do that, I noticed) - though he claimed he didn’t want to, he’d be entering areas only available to hunters soon and this is when he casually mentioned that, “It takes a hunter to chase a hunter,” in what I still consider was a _cheap shot_ at the time and a less than subtle way of telling me to take the exams.

It was something we’d discussed before but never something I’d seriously considered.

Becoming a Hunter was near impossible for most but in the end, I decided the need for me to strangle you burned deeper than my aversion to hard work.

Kaito had laughed at this, too, and we lit a campfire and talked a lot on that final night together.

I have a lot of memories with Kaito, but this might be the one I recall most vividly. 

He’d been laying down on the ground, his sunken dark eyes staring at me intensely as I poked our fire with a stick I’d found.

He had tilted his head at me and then hummed before asking, “What do you really think of Ging?” in what I might've said was completely out of the blue if I didn’t know that you were on both our minds that night already, anyways.

I poked the fire for a few more moments, thinking. “He pisses me off a lot,” I had decided on. Of course, Kaito already knew this as I had ranted about you at great lengths to him and began all my training sessions by shouting “FUCK YOU, GING FREECS” to the top of my lungs in the morning under a rushing waterful. A mantra of sorts, if you will.

Kaito then did that thing where he puffs air through his nose and does that not-quite-a-laugh kind of amused response.

“Surely you don’t really mean that,” he’d replied, the curiosity in his eyes having been easily illuminated by the dancing fire in front of us.

I scoffed and refused to meet his gaze. “I do,” I had replied resolutely. “He’s irresponsible and lacks any ounce of empathy.” 

“That may be true,” began Kaito again. “But no one truly hates Ging Freecs.” 

I hadn’t bothered hiding the bitterness in my tone when I responded, “Not even his fatherless son?” because that was something I had also been recently clued in about at the time.

Kaito hadn’t even hesitated to debunk my rebuttal. “I think Gon might love him the most,” he had replied.

Which was a good guess. But no, it wasn’t Gon who loved you the most.

It was me. It was always me.

Coincidently, I think I might be the one who hates you the most, too. 

“Regardless, he’s still a dick. He leaves everyone behind. Pulls them in and then rips them away. He did it to Gon’s mother, he did it to you and he did it to me. Ging Freecs is an asshole.” 

There was a long pause after I said this, and Kaito had let out a noncommittal hum before replying, “I think I’m going to miss having you around.”

I remember feeling so warm at that moment, warmer than any heat produced by a simple fire. “I’ll miss you too,” I had said softly back to him.

And then Kaito had given me one of his mysterious smiles before rolling over and going to sleep.

I haven’t seen Kaito since then, but I really hope he’s kicking your ass right now, Ging


	5. Letter Five

And that brings us to where I am today.

I think you’d be laughing at me if you were here.

After all, I think I am the only one in the room who is not a burly man with muscles bigger than my own  _ head,  _ and I think I am the only one writing ‘dear diary’ entries in the corner to my childhood love.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again,  _ but I am not a fighter. _

I’m not a lover, either. 

I’m just there. 

An unimportant blob of human flesh, whimpering in the corner and occasionally planning a certain man’s castration when it fancies me. 

You know I’m not a fighter, either, Ging, considering how much you used to tease me about it.

And because I am most decidedly  _ not a fighter,  _ it is at the 287th Hunter Exams that I feel I am the most out of my depth.

As I write to you in this foul-smelling waiting area hunched over next to what I am almost certain is vomit, I wonder how you’d react if you saw me here. 

You used to always goad me into trying to take the exams when we were younger, claiming I could be your  _ sidekick  _ in hunting of all things. 

Would you be proud, I wonder, if I told you about I outsmarted forest animals and had them bring me here? Would you proud that I discovered the exam location all on my own?

Then again, I suppose we’ll never know - considering that if you were here you’d be too busy being _ choked  _ to offer any words of congratulations.

A shame, really.

.

.

.

They just announced the first phase and I kind of want to die.

Just a little bit.

But honestly, how else am I meant to react when possibly the palest man I’ve ever seen shows up (with a pink head of hair and the thinnest, most purposeless moustache I’ve ever laid eyes on, nonetheless), claims to be our examiner and then tells us the first part of the exam is  **literally. just. running.**

**_RUNNING!_ **

What kind of fuckery is this.

I really hope all those times I spent running from Kaito and his stupid nen scythe is going to pay off here.

.

.

.

The people here are weird and give me the creeps and I want to go home.

Why am I doing this again? 

Ah, right, to enact revenge on a decade-old grudge to my childhood love.

Makes sense.

.

.

.

There are no clocks around, and I’ll probably cut off my own tongue before I engage any of the weirdos here that are supposed to be my fellow examinees, so there’s no real way to tell the time, but I’m pretty sure I’ve been running nonstop for hours now. Perhaps even  _ centuries.  _

I’ve forgotten what the sun feels like. All I know is the powerful legs of  _Satotz-san_ i n front of me _ ,  _ and the darkness of the tunnel.

I’m not sure my legs are attached to my body anymore because I haven’t been able to feel them for the past hour. I’m too afraid to look down and check.

And I keep getting bruises because I trip and fall whenever I try to write and run at the same time. Which, I’m decidedly blaming  _ you  _ for, Ging.

Thanks for that.

And to make matters worse there’s a  _ clown  _ here. An honest to god, card throwing, red-haired, juggling clown. And he’s staring at me, like,  _ really fucking intensely,  _ and it’s reminding me too much of Kaito’s  _ Crazy Slots. _

Can you get PTSD from a Nen conjured weapon?

Cause it sure as hell feels like it right now.

.

.

.

There’s a twelve-year-old boy here that looks like you and it pisses me off.

Well, I can’t actually see his face because he’s in front of me, but the back of his head looks so much like you that I almost snapped my neck with how fast I did a double-take when I saw him in the corner of my eye.

For a moment I thought that _ was  _ you, before it abruptly occurred to me that though you may be one in mind, you no longer had the body of a 12-year-old.

Who could blame me though? If you took a picture of the back of this kid’s head and told me it was you I’d believe it without a second thought. 

He’s got the same stupid spiked up haircut you had as a kid and a fishing pole, too.

Maybe it’s a popular trend amongst youth nowadays, and the craze was fortunate enough to skip over our island.

There’s another boy with him, as well as two teens(?) - some of the very few children I’ve seen here.

Honestly, who lets a child take the Hunter exam?  __ ~~_ (And yes, that is 100% a dig at you, Ging) _ ~~

Where are these children’s parents?

Anywho, that’s beside the point. The resemblance of the back of your head and his is  _ uncanny.  _ And annoying.

I really want to hit this kid now, but I kind of think if we were in a fight he’d win.

.

.

.

I knew who Gon was.

Kaito told me about how he met him on Whale Island.

So I  _ knew  _ that you had a kid.

But it never quite occurred to me until now  **_that you had a kid._ **

The thought simply did not register in my mind until the child I was thinking about beating up suddenly turns around and all I think is  **_oh shit Ging has a kid._ **

Of course, the haircut and fishing rod was a coincidence - but the face -  _ the face, the expression, the eyes, the  _ **_everything_ ** _ \-  _ looked so much like you that I wanted to punch myself in the mouth.

There was no denying. This boy was practically a carbon copy of you as a twelve-year-old, except he seemed a lot less bitter. 

It occurs to me now, why Kaito made me take the exam this year and not last year or the one before. 

I think I’m going to throw up.


	6. Letter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> clown meets clown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for all the lovely comments last chapter, they all really motivated me! also, I'm doing smth a little different in this chapter! I thought it would be cool to have some parts as a letter and the last part as what happens to the protag that she omits in her letters to trash man ging!

I _did indeed_ end up throwing up.

Fortunately, I did not get any on myself. 

Unfortunately for the pink-haired contestant with a bow and arrow who happened to be standing next to me, the same could not be said for him.

I might have apologized for throwing up my breakfast on his pointy shoes if I had not been so utterly engrossed at that moment by the idea that I was standing in the same room - sharing the same _hunter’s exam -_ as Ging Freecs’ son.

As _your_ son.

I looked back up at him, and Gon gave me this funny looking stare before turning away from me again and continuing to speak to the white-haired boy next to him without saying anything to me.

Probably for the best.

I don’t know what I’d even say to him if we ever actually met.

“Sorry your father is a jackass,” is the only thing to come to mind, and that isn’t exactly something I _like_ telling people.

.

.

.

I think the clown is getting closer.

And before you call me _crazy_ , Ging, I swear he’s four contestants closer than he was before.

And it can’t be that he’s running faster, because _he’s not even running._ Or even speed-walking. He’s merely shuffling a deck of playing cards and humming, at the walking speed one might take if they’re taking a stroll through the forest, looking for some _Aina_ berries.

I’m trying not to look at him but whenever curiosity _does_ win over and I dare to turn around, his unnervingly gold coloured eyes are already on me.

And not in an _oh, we happened to glance at each other at the same time, how awkward teehee,_ kind of way - but instead, an _I've been staring at you this entire time, never trust a clown, you fool_ kind of way.

To describe in a way you might best understand, he’s staring at me the way you stare at Kupuna’s grilled _Auweke_ , and the way I might stare at your grave.

His stare is one filled with far too much _desire,_ for my liking. 

.

.

.

The _stare™_ and _beating up your son_ are now the least of my worries. 

The clown is getting bolder. He has forgone his deck of cards and is now making what I imagine must seem like random gestures in the air to many of the other contestants. 

However, to people like me, it is painfully obvious he is doing the equivalent of _making kissy faces from across the room_ to me with his nen.

Even without _gyo_ activated I can see strings of nen aura from his fingers, thin and pink like bubblegum as he draws love hearts in the area next to him.

He creates various shapes, like different playing cards suites and numbers but mainly sticks with hearts.

I … honestly don’t know what to do here. Judging by the way no one else around him is reacting, I have to assume they can’t see them.

When he caught me staring yet again, he made another heart with his nen strings before tilting his head and smiling. An unspoken invitation to go up to him, but there’s **_no fucking way_** that’s happening anytime soon.

Despite how inviting and sweet his hearts may seem, even from this distance, I can see his nen core. 

Unlike Kaito’s, whose aura and core felt like swimming in a deep lake with depths unknown, the clown’s aura feels like I’m eating _Aina_ berries.

Sweet, sticky pink _Aina_ berries plucked from the forests of my hometown, highly addictive and highly poisonous in large doses. 

For once, I heed Kupuna’s advice and don’t go near the poisoned pink berries. 

No matter how much they stare.

* * *

“You can see them, can’t you?”

I’m not proud of the terrified scream I let out when the clown suddenly appears behind me as I write to Ging, but I can say it was completely justified. Because, honestly, who the fuck jump-scares someone when they’re in the middle of writing? And running a _fucking marathon,_ no less!  
  


I’ve already got enough bruises, pal, I don’t need any more!

And even though I _do_ jump when the clown whispers in my ear, I’m honestly not surprised to see him so close. I did, after all, say he was getting closer in my letters to Ging. _Fucking called it._

It occurs to me that I haven’t spoken for a while now, merely staring at the jack-in-a-box clown in silence and horror without doing much else. Though the clown doesn’t seem to mind, grinning down at me predatorily, I still manage to speak up.

“Um.” I begin, intelligently. “See what, exactly?” 

Playing the fool worked so often for that lousy Ging, perhaps it would work here for me, too.

“Don’t feign ignorance,” responds the clown. He still hasn’t moved, and his breath is still incredibly, _unnaturally,_ close to my ear.

I haven’t moved either, and contestants around us send a confused glance our way but say nothing as they continue to run and pass us. 

“I can see your _core,”_ he starts again. “It looks **_delicious_ ** _.”_

As he says this it occurs to me that I feel glad he’s behind me, so I would not have to see whatever expression came with _that_ tone of voice. 

He says his words with a lilt, and his voice drops several octaves. 

_Fucking clowns._

I turn around to him, choosing my next words very carefully. Despite his _laissez-faire_ body language, everything about him screamed _Danger! Danger! Killer clown!_

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I settle on.

The clown hums at this and leans closer to my face. I lean back in retaliation, at such an angle that surely _Makoa,_ my technically still-fiance and the limbo champion of our island, would be proud of. 

Surprisingly, our vague conversation about nen ends there and he asks instead, “Do you like to… **_dance?”_ **

I think back to Ging.

I think back to days of my childhood, hours spent laughing by a campfire as I tell him to spin me in his arms until I get dizzy, and to hold me until I see stars in the daylight.

Visions of a grumpy hunter reluctantly taking my hand in his -

Creating _electricity_ as we danced barefoot to the music of my people _-_

I blink, forcing those memories out of my mind. “I _ **hate**_ dancing,” I settle on.

The clown laughs. 

A tense silence passes between us (well, tense _for me,_ but the clown looked as pleased as he usually does) and then he reaches forward, grabs a lock of my hair between his fingers and tells me, “Don’t die too quickly,” before letting the hair fall from his hand.

I blink at him and he smiles at me one last time before beginning to walk away.

I blink again, and after a moment begin running again.

I knew the Hunter Exams would have it’s fair share weirdos, but seriously _what the fuck was with that._

I don’t think I’ll write to Ging about that encounter.

In fact, I think I’d rather block that out and never think about it again so I am still able to sleep tonight.

_Fucking clowns._


	7. Letter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this chapter in a nutshell: MC is still simping for Ging and Hisoka is still a creep. Who could have guessed?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short lil chapter that serves as a transition between the first and second phase! hope you guys enjoy!

Somedays I wonder if fleeing my home and travelling half-way across the world was a bit too _dramatic_ of a response to getting dumped.

The phrase “dumped” being used very _liberally,_ considering the word implies a meaningful relationship in the first place, one that you would probably deny any notion of if ever asked.

Somedays I wonder if you’re worth the trouble, Ging. (You’re really _not,_ FYI, so don’t let that comment go to your head).

Usually, these are fleeting thoughts, ones which can often be purged by reminiscing of all the teen angst caused by you in my childhood, and my deep hatred and need for revenge will return like it was never gone in the first place.

But it is moments like these, moments when I am told after running what must be the equivalent of a bajillion marathons at once, that I must now travel through a marsh filled with _man-eating, body shifting beasts_ that I think I should have just become a lesbian or something.

Yes, a mild-mannered lesbian or hippie like _Kaito._

How much simpler my existence would be.

Or even, if I’d married Makoa, popped out a few devil spawn children like the elders so desperately wanted, and lived out the rest of my days as an unhappy housewife in a loveless marriage.

Surely, that is the better alternative to _this._

How much better would the world be, if I let you drown all those years ago.

I could have gone my entire life without ever seeing Mr Creepy Clown Man try to skewer a man on playing cards like he was a _pipi shish kabob._

But here I am.

With the card-riddled corpse of a shapeshifting monkey at my feet, and the child of my unrequited love giggling at me amongst a sea of testosterone-pumped fighters.

All you hunters are fucking _weirdos,_ Ging.

And it deeply depresses me that I’m trying so desperately to become one of you.

.

.

.

This part of the exam doesn't seem so bad, but I might just be jinxing myself by saying that.

The fog here is pretty dense, but as long as I don't lose sight of Satotz-san we should be good.

Maybe this exam won't be as horrible as I thought.

.

.

.

Oh my god is that a fucking turtle

Why is it so

Why is it so fucking big

I am watching a turtle eat a man

What do I do oh my god

.

.

.

The mushrooms explode when you walk on them.

_What the fuck_

_._

_._

_._

I am officially sick of this fucking marsh.

Whoever created these animals is a cruel, cruel deity.

The Island goddess is watching over me, I know it, and _she is laughing._

I think I can smell burnt toast.

* * *

“So you _are_ still alive.”

  
  


Regretfully so, yes.

I don’t jump this time when the clown appears behind me. He flared his nen before speaking, so either that was a courtesy “hello” in serial killer clown-speak, or he just wanted to obnoxiously announce his presence to me, and only me.

Though, it’s not like there are any other contestants around anyway. I had lost Satotz-san earlier, but judging by the path of trampled leaves and branches I was following, they were not that far.

I’m not surprised to see the clown anyway, really. It’d been too quiet after my encounter with the giant toad that eats human beings whole.

I’d quickly learned, after being in this marsh for little over an hour, that everything in here is trying to kill me. Including (and probably _doubly so for)_ the clown speaking to me now.

I lick my dry lips and answer his question, “I think I’m having a stroke, but other than that I’m OK.”

Well, as _OK_ as one can be after discovering that man-eating turtles were, in fact, a real thing and were roughly the size of a York New skyscraper.

I fold the piece of paper that I was writing on in half and place it in my pocket for safe-keeping. Having this red-haired killer magician read my angry love letters to Ging is the last thing I want happening at this moment.

And I get the feeling this conversation is likely to be redacted from my letters to Ging, anyway.

“That’s good.” He hums in reply, his smile seeming a bit too wide.

It was unsettling. Almost as unsettling as the sheer amount of _blood_ on his clothes right now. But I’d like to wake up tomorrow morning, so I won’t comment on that.

I do not say anything after that, largely because I think I might swallow my entire tongue if I try to speak, but the clown doesn’t seem to mind.

He continues speaking, regardless of my silence. “I had a run-in with that green-haired boy,” he begins suddenly. “The one you were watching.”

OK, first off, I was not _watching_ Gon. I was more… _marvelling_ at his existence.

I mean, who could blame me?

The kid was living proof that Ging managed to swindle some poor woman into birthing his offspring. 

It was inconceivable. 

Gon was nothing short of a paradox and a _medical miracle_ in my mind, so I think a little staring is justified. 

And sometimes, if I do manage to see glimpses of Ging’s child through all this heavy fog of the marsh, I like to squint my eyes a bit and reminisce, and it’s like he never left.

But that’s _sappy,_ so if anyone asks I’m going with the first reason.

If the clown notices the way my gaze drifts off, distracted ~~(perhaps, even~~ ~~ _longingly)_ ~~ then he doesn’t say anything about it. “I see why you’d take an interest. He has a lot of _… potential_ …”

I am decidedly _ignoring_ the hungry look in his eyes as he says this.

“Sure,” I answer back, hoping that me agreeing with him will placate him and he’ll go be creepy elsewhere.

His eyes find mine, and his narrowed golden eyes stare me down.

“You have a lot of potential, too.”

“Sure.”

He laughs at my response and then holds out his hand to me. “Would you like me to accompany you to the next phase? I think I’ve had as much fun as I can with the rest of the contestants who are still living.”

Against my better judgement, and out of fear of what would happen to me and my _potential_ if I said no, I take his hand in mine and reply, “... Sure.”

  
Ging Freecs is _most definitely_ not worth all this hunter _bullshit._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was rereading the manga for this chapter and there are so many things I just don't remember from the end of phase one and Swindler's Swamp. Like the giant toad-thing that "buries itself with its mouth open and hides the opening with vegetation, awaiting travellers" as described in the manga. or the "the soporific butterfly: makes living beings fall asleep due to a particular way of flying. they place their larva in their captive bodies" like what the fuck.
> 
> togashi really be fucking with us huh


	8. Letter Eight

If clowns are supposed to make people laugh, then why is it I feel I am one man-eating monkey away from a breakdown at this moment in time?

_Take the hunter exams this year,_ Kaito said. _You have your nen, it’ll be a walk in the park._

Kaito can literally _eat my ass._ The nen is useful for reserving energy, sure, but it also attracted the attention of _Bobo the Clown,_ who is about as useful to me as _Gonorrhea._

Someone needs to tell that gray haired praying mantis that walks in the park typically _do not_ involve having a serial killer clown as your escort in marshes of unholy creatures. 

It’s not like he makes for particularly good company, either. He has about all the social grace of a prepubescent boy with a stiffy he doesn’t want to acknowledge. 

That much was obvious during our walk, when he announced out of the blue, that he didn’t know my name. I told him my name didn’t matter, and instead of saying something like “oh, I just wanted something to refer to you as in a polite way,” or “oh, I was just curious,” this absolute **_fucker_ **, just hums before replying, “Every meal has a name.”

Like, _I beg your fuckign pardon???_

**_MEAL?!_ **

Ging, I’m convinced that if I die before I meet you, it’ll be at the hands of this man (who’s name I now know is _Hisoka,_ and I feel as if I could have died happily without that info). 

And know that if _Bobo the Clown_ (I refuse to address him as _Hisoka,_ it is far too human) does cook me into a Kālua Pork dish, that I am coming back from the grave to haunt you.

Either way, I’m getting off-topic. Miraculously, the clown and I have made it the next phase in the Biska Woods. You son is here, FYI, and he looks relatively unharmed - he is, however, giving my unpleasant company the biggest stink eye I’ve ever seen in my life.

I’m tempted to ask Bobo what the hell _that’s_ about, but I think I’m better off not knowing. 

The next phase supposedly begins at noon, which isn’t far off from now. Bobo is getting more and more curious at what I’m writing, so I’ll leave it here for now and let you know what happens later.

Peace out, asshole.

.

.

.

Okay.

I have some questions.

First of all, _what the fuck is a gourmet hunter?_ That sounds like such a fake title! What the hell do they need to be hunters for? Can’t they just be chefs? And can’t they just be a regular hunter who, you know, _cooks well?_ How do they have a whole ass subsection of hunter classifications dedicated to them?

You hunters are so _weird,_ Ging. 

Second question, can this thicc fucker not make his own meal? Why on earth do we gotta make a pork dish for him? I became a hunter to fight _against_ the patriarchy (also, you know, to castrate you, but that’s irrelevant), this is ridiculous. 

I’m tempted to tell him just to get fucked, but I kind of need my hunters license to track you down, and Bobo seems _way_ too excited about us being cooking partners for me to get away with that (also, side note: I was heavily against teaming up with the killer clown for this task, too, but once again, **_KILLER CLOWN,_** so I didn’t feel like arguing about it). 

Either way, Bobo has fucked off to the depths of the woods and has left me with the simple instruction of _“wait”_ which is why I’m writing to you again.

Don’t let it get to your head though, I’m only writing because there’s nothing better to do, and because when we met I’m going to force you to read through all this tedious nonsense.

.

.

.

  
  


We may be fucked. 

Just a little bit. A lot has happened in the past two hours, Ging, and I’m going through it quickly so try to keep up.

Okay, so first of all, Bobo got us the meat and we cooked that bastard _perfectly._ Makoa said I was a mediocre cook at best, but he can fuck right off because this dish was nothing short of _divine._

Which made it all the more harrowing that I wasn’t even the one who got to eat it.

Bobo helped prepare the dish, and made for a surprisingly good sous-chef. He left a majority of the cooking for me, because _and I quote,_ it is one of the “few things weak women are good for.” 

Mark my words, the day I’m no longer a coward, it is _over_ for Bobo. I’m going to smash the glass ceiling on top of his stupid murderous red head. 

Either way, the meal made us both pass with flying colours, but that did not matter at all for the next round. The smaller examiner requested we make her _sushi,_ which is just a fancy word for fish and rice, and she failed every single contestant from the first round. 

There was a lot of protest in response to this, some guy got _body slammed_ by the thicc judge and then some old man in a blimp dropped from the heavens and said we could do another task.

I really wish I could say I was making this up, but unfortunately this is all very much real.

Of course, one thing led to another and Bobo and I ended up having to bungee jump into a chasm of spider eggs and web. Absolutely fucking terrfying, by the way, but I suppose it was worth it in the end as we ended up passing.

  
I think I’ve developed a fear of heights _and_ spiders now but at least my room in this airship is pretty swanky.

**Author's Note:**

> hope you guys all enjoyed, see you next time!


End file.
